


El Pollo Hijo

by JaggedCliffs



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Fluff, Gen, slight AU, slight crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:58:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaggedCliffs/pseuds/JaggedCliffs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike's typical day on the job with Jesse turns not-so-typical. All with the addition of a chicken.</p>
<p>Based on <a href="http://invipinx.tumblr.com/post/60010662735/slow-day-at-guss-poultry-farm">this piece of fan art</a> by <a href="http://invipinx.tumblr.com">invipinx</a>. As the artist notes in their tags, this could literally never happen, but if it could, it would take place sometime between Shotgun and Bug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	El Pollo Hijo

**Author's Note:**

> This has to be the silliest, fluffiest, least-angst-ridden fic I have ever written. Probably because Vince Gilligan & Co. made their characters so completely and utterly miserable I simply couldn't compete with them, so I had to resort to the exact opposite: make their characters happy. 
> 
> This is my first Breaking Bad fic, and it is unfortunately un-beta'd. I also know nothing about chickens or poultry farming. Please forgive any inaccuracies.

“We have a problem.”

Mike waited for the smooth, perfectly controlled “Yes?” to come across the cell before he exhaled in one drawn-out sigh.

“Jesse wants a chicken.”

There was a pause from the other end of the line. A long pause. “I see,” Gus said. “Would you like to explain how Jesse arrived at this decision and why it is a problem?”

Mike felt the stirrings of an emotion he had thought long since dried up: embarrassment. “I made a misjudgement on my part,” he confessed. “You know the kid was just starting a batch with Walt when Tyrus said he'd be with me today?”

“Yes.” No doubt Gus had been watching, if he wasn't busy with the restaurant. Or the cartel.

“Well, Walter had to run out in the middle of cooking – some other mess with Schrader – while we were at the poultry farm. I was finished up and ready to go when Tyrus got us on the line. 'Cept the kid was a little bit...busy with something.”

“Busy with what?” Underneath the flat curiosity, Gus' voice held a warning note that Mike was quite familiar with. Although rarely was it directed towards himself.

Those scant stirrings of embarrassment grew decidedly stronger. “Busy watching chickens,” Mike managed to say without inflection.

There was only a slight undercurrent of displeasure to Gus's patient silence.

Mike could admit to himself that he had been a little too indulgent. He hadn't really needed Jesse for the day – not that he _needed_ Jesse any other day, as remarkably helpful as the kid had turned out to be – but today Jesse had only tailed after Mike as he did his rounds, checking in on Gus' various business around town, passing along information and items best not done over the phone or by courier. None of which required Jesse to do jack squat but stand far away enough to avoid overhearing anything of importance.

By the time they'd stopped off at the poultry farm just after noon, Jesse was lagging behind him sullenly, kicking up dust with every step and one hand scraping along the corrugated metal that comprised the side of the poultry coops.

“You'll upset the chickens if you keep that up,” Mike commented. He'd meant it teasingly, but Jesse's footsteps abruptly came to a halt.

“There are chickens in there? Like, _actual_ chickens?”

When Mike turned, Jesse was staring at the metal siding like he'd see the birds on the other side if he focused hard enough.

“This _is_ a poultry farm, and Gus _does_ run a fast food chicken joint,” Mike explained flatly. “Yes, he needs actual chickens for that.” He started forward again, only to stop when Jesse didn't immediately follow, instead scuffing his feet in the sand, his reluctance obvious.

Huffing out a sigh, Mike turned back. “What is it, kid?”

Jesse ducked his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. “No, it's stupid, I just – I mean, I saw on the Discovery Channel once, there was this special on like, chicken farms and meat plants for fast food and stuff – but I guess that's none of my business, right?” Jesse finished off on a mumble, staring at his shoes, neither of which disguised the sharp tang of bitterness in his voice.

It was Jesse's unasked question as much as his tone that twinged at something in Mike's chest. “Our poultry farm obeys all regulations and animal protection laws to the dot,” Mike said, and Jesse's head snapped up as he blinked in surprise. Mike gave him the smallest of smiles. “The animals are well taken-care of, and no government official or animal rights activist has any reason to complain or investigate further into our company.”

Jesse nodded, eyes wide. “Right. Yeah, that makes sense. Solid business practice.” Relief spread across his face, though the kid tried his best to hide it. Which was to say, not very well at all.

Not for the first time, Mike wondered how Jesse had gotten this far in the business – had had it in him to off Gale, and still pull himself from the nihilism Mike had found Jesse in when he still thought a bullet to the head would be a better solution than heroics. Nine-point-nine times out of ten, he'd have expected either the kid to have been chewed up and spat out into an early grave, or the same done to that soft heart of his.

As much as he knew he shouldn't, as much as Gus' business didn't allow for those sorts of things, Mike would hate to see either happen to Jesse.

Mike watched as Jesse started shuffling forward again, silent and hands tucked safely away in his jacket. But the kid's longing, sideways glances at the metal siding spoke loud enough. It was a look Mike saw on Kaylee's face when she'd had a rough time of it, before he spoiled her rotten. It was one he'd seen on his son's, once upon a time.

That was dangerous thinking, those comparisons. And yet...maybe the kid deserved a little break. They weren't in any hurry, and there likely wouldn't be any madcap capers today – certainly not planned ones, and little chance of unplanned ones (though not impossible – Mike didn't get where he was by ignoring possibilities of the unexpected). And though barring Jesse from the details of their operation wasn't doing him any favours, Mike couldn't let the kid in without Gus' say-so. This would have to be the next best thing. Besides, the happier the kid was on the job with Mike, the sooner they could drag him out from Walt's clutches.

It wouldn't hurt, he figured.

Studying Jesse's morose face, Mike asked, “Do you want to see them?”

“What?” Jesse looked up, startled.

Mike gestured at the metal siding. “Do you want to see the chickens while I finish our business up front?” he clarified.

Jesse gaped like a fish out of water. “I – yeah, I – seriously? Right now?” he sputtered, his face a road-map of doubt, distrust, and the smallest smattering of eagerness. “Don't you need help, or something?”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “So you can stand around and pretend you're not trying to eavesdrop?” Jesse glanced away, abashed, but the wariness hadn't disappeared, like he expected this to be a test, or a trick. Mike figured he'd give him a little nudge.

“Trust me, I don't need backup to talk to the guys up front; it shouldn't take more than a few minutes at most. Just go around to the coop's doors, around the corner there,” Mike gestured back the way they came, “and ask for Frank. Tell him I sent you, and have him bring one of the hens out. Get some chicken feed while you're at it. I'll join you when I'm done.”

Jesse looked like he was waiting the rug to be pulled out from under him. “Why?” he asked.

There were several ways to interpret that question. Mike went with the simplest. “Because I enjoy feeding chickens,” he answered, and left Jesse to it. It was true enough – Mike had a quite soft spot for those little buggers as well.

Maybe too much of a soft spot for certain other little buggers.

Because that was how Tyrus' phone call found the two of them: watching a chicken, Jesse's feed all used up. Well, Mike was watching. Jesse was delicately rubbing his fingers down the hen's back, looking like he would be making cooing noises if Mike wasn't around.

As Mike took the call, Jesse's eyes briefly met Mike's before they returned the hen. Except Jesse was no longer quite so absorbed in playing with the bird. Instead, his eyes kept flickering up while Mike listened to Tyrus' clipped explanation, and his face grew more and more solemn each time his fingers passed down the hen’s side. By the time Mike hung up and relayed the details to Jesse, the kid had turned downright pensive.

When Mike said they had to get going, the kid just nodded, eyes now firmly on the hen.  
The second he waved one of the poultry farmers over to return the chicken to her pen, Mike saw the moment Jesse made his decision. Not that Mike was exactly shocked by that point; Jesse knew what was going to happen to that chicken – maybe not now, or even in the next few days, but soon enough.

Mike didn't bother intervening as Jesse lurched forward and scooped the surprisingly calm chicken into his arms. He only slowly rose to his feet as Jesse did the same, though with his old knees creaking and groaning, before dusting off his pants and reaching out a hand towards the kid. “Jesse...” he started.

“Nuh-uh,” Jesse said, holding the hen away from Mike as if he might lunge for her. The hen squawked and flapped and her wings, but didn't otherwise try to escape from Jesse's arms.

Mike bit back a groan. “Jesse, you can't take a chicken into the lab.”

“I _know_ that. We don't have to put her in the lab, though. I can take her home.”

“ _No_ , we need to get to the lab in the next hour or else the batch will be spoiled.” At least that was what Walter had claimed, and Mike was inclined to believe him when it came to Walt's precious formula.

“Well, I'm not leaving her,” Jesse insisted, and by all hell, the kid stuck to his guns, refusing Mike's offer to drop the hen off at Jesse's house or to keep her here and collect her later, seemingly under the impression that the poultry farmers would chop off her head the moment Jesse took his eyes off her.

With nearly ten minutes wasted arguing over a chicken, Mike was about ready to cave and just let the kid bring the bird along, save he couldn't be sure how well anyone else would take the appearance of a chicken at the lab. Namely, his employer.

So in a last-ditch attempt to get a final say on the situation, Mike called Gus. And repeated the story as succinctly as possible, which didn't entirely prevent those bothersome pricklings of embarrassment from creeping down his spine. Gus, however, kept his judgement on Mike's over-indulgence to himself; he didn't speak until Mike finished his report with, “We now have forty-five minutes to get back to the lab, and the kid won't give up the bird since–”

“Yes, I understand why Jesse wishes to keep the chicken,” Gus interrupted. If Mike didn't know his employer so well, he would have missed the hint of exasperation, along with the much smaller hint of...not quite fondness. Something closer to appreciation, maybe.

Gus fell silent for a long moment. As Mike waited he watched Jesse, who stood just out of hearing range next to the car, the hen still ensconced in his arms. The kid wavered between staring at the phone with a mixture of hope and wariness, and side-eyeing the poultry farmer waiting on orders from Mike.

Then Gus spoke again.

“Here is what you will do. Let Jesse keep the chicken. I will have Tyrus pick up a cage so it can remain in the back room while Jesse works. Then, after the cook, you will help Jesse gather supplies and run through all the proper bylaws for keeping a chicken within city limits.” There was another short pause. “And, if Walter asks about the mess, tell him Jesse decided he wanted a pet to keep him company in the lab for the day. And I gave him leave to do so.”

“You probably don't need me to antagonize the man,” Mike responded, suppressing the spark of relief that Gus took no issue with Mike's lapse in judgement. “Walter's already on Jesse's case enough as it is.”

While Jesse seemed to have picked up Gus' plan to split him and Walter apart, and accordingly kept any arguments between them under wraps, Mike couldn't help but notice the less-than-subtle tells: Jesse was always angrier and more impatient after he'd just met with Walter, more anxious to prove himself. With every emotion written plain across the kid's face, it wasn't hard to see the trouble unfolding between the two.

“Nevertheless, a little push in the right direction could not go amiss,” Gus said simply, and hung up. Mike did likewise, snapping his phone shut and shoving it into his pocket as he strode towards the car.

“So what'd he say? Can I keep her?” Jesse asked, breathless, while Mike unlocked the doors. The kid looked like he already knew the answer, and it wasn't the one he'd hoped for.

Mike couldn't resist a small grin. “It's your lucky day, kid,” he said. “Get in the car, and try to keep the bird calm on the way back to the lab.”

Mike had seen children on Christmas morning whose faces shone with less pure, unadulterated delight. The smile that broke through Jesse's expression was something else. He looked like he wanted to hurtle over the car and into the passenger side, but managed to restrain himself to a slow walk that kept chicken-jostling to a minimum. Meanwhile, Mike slid into the driver's seat, then reached over and opened the passenger door before Jesse could reach another conundrum – how to open the door without disturbing his new pet.

With just as much care as his walk, the kid took his seat, waiting for the chicken settled on his legs with a few clucks and flap of her wings. Only then, ignoring Mike's pointed looks, did Jesse oh-so-gently close his door and buckle up. The moment the seat belt snapped, Mike revved up the car and stepped on the gas before Jesse could decide he wanted to save the whole farm's worth of chickens. In fact, he half-expected to Jesse to turn to him at any moment and demand Gus free the whole barn. Or maybe start rattling off facts about chickens that he'd heard on the Discovery Channel.

He didn't expect to hear nothing.

Mike glanced over at the kid. Instead of exhibiting the restless hyperactivity that normally vibrating through his body or the sullen listlessness from their first ride together, Jesse sat still and stared mutely at his new chicken with barely-concealed awe; he only moved to slowly stroke his fingers down the hen's back. For her part, the hen clucked nervously, ruffling her feathers, but remained otherwise placid and content with Jesse's lap in spite of the rumbling of the car.

It wasn't the type of focus Mike usually found in Jesse, at least not during their rides. He certainly wouldn't have expected that kind of placidity while Jesse had an animal right _there_.

Despite the blessed quiet, Mike found himself asking, “Have you ever had a pet before?”

It took Jesse a moment to answer. “Well, no...But that doesn't mean I won't be able to take care of her,” Jesse added quickly, immediately on the defensive, his eyes flashing with a stubborn light when he removed them from the hen long enough to stare down Mike.

“Relax, kid. I was just asking a question.” Honestly, did he think Mike was going to snatch away the bird as soon as his back was turned?

From the way Jesse still eyed him suspiciously, perhaps he did. But his shoulders relaxed some, and though his brow remained furrowed, his gaze returned to the hen.

“My parents weren't exactly the type to keep pets,” he said after a few seconds, when Mike thought Jesse might have stopped talking altogether. “I asked for a dog, once. A golden retriever. But they said one'd be too much work, and that I wasn't old enough to take care of one since _they_ weren't going to take care of my pet for me, plus it'd shed all over the furniture.”

Jesse let out a huff and propped an elbow against the window. He leaned his head against his hand, while the fingers of his other hand didn't once break rhythm from petting the feathers on the chicken's breast. “So then I said we could get a snake,” he continued when he'd resettled, “'cause snakes are the _coolest_ , plus it wouldn't shed and we wouldn't have to take one on walks like a dog. We could get, like a boa constrictor or something, because they're awesome and huge _and_ you can still get 'em as pets. But my mom thought snakes were gross and slimy or something, which they totally _aren't_ ,” he grumbled at the hen. “Snakes just have a bad rap, yo.”

“Oh boy,” Mike muttered.

“What?” Jesse looked around at him, offended, and Mike almost grinned at the expression.

“You sound just like my granddaughter, is all,” Mike said, and there he was again with those dangerous comparisons. But it was too late to take it back, and Jesse was already looking at him expectantly.

“She did a book report on snakes a couple months ago,” Mike elaborated. “ _Two_ -headed snakes, specifically. And ever since then it's been, 'Can I get a snake, can I get a snake _please?_ I promise I'll look after it and won't let it eat anyone else's pet. Please, please, _please?_ '”

“There are two-headed snakes?” Jesse asked – gasped, really – jerking towards him and neatly upsetting the chicken.

“Oh boy,” Mike muttered again, this time under his breath, as Jesse calmed the flapping, squawking bird and the floodgates proceeded to open. Jesse began peppering him with questions, his speechless awe dissolved into puppy-like excitement: he needed to know about the availability of two-headed snakes, whether or not Mike thought they were “the bomb” compared to boas, and just how cool was Mike's granddaughter (if Mike stooped to using Jesse's lingo, he was pretty sure she was defined as “ _the coolest_ ”).

Yet throughout all the questions, Jesse still kept his fingers running down the chicken's back, keeping her soothed as the car clattered down the highway.

Hours later, sitting on Jesse's lone couch and surrounded by an assortment of bird seed, bird-care kits, veterinarian tips, and a large cage that had been locked for the entirety of ten seconds before Jesse had let his new pet have the run of the place – she was currently hiding somewhere behind Jesse's ridiculous circle lounge chair – Mike wondered how long that period of elation would last. On the table, he had _The Albuquerque Bylaw Guide to Owning Poultry_ and a sheaf of paperwork to be filled out (and forged). Jesse had balked at the amount of paperwork and required vet checkups before he determinedly settled himself down beside Mike.

That was, until the door swung open, and in popped a boy about Kaylee's age, followed by a pretty young woman holding a bag of groceries. Jesse shot to his feet at the same time that the boy spotted Mike and froze, only inching forward when his mother gently pushed him through the door so she could shut the thing. “Hey, Jesse,” the woman said, her gaze briefly flickering to Mike in confusion. “Are we early?”

“Hey, no, sorry,” Jesse said, wiping his palms on his pants, a gleam of panic in his eyes as he glanced between Mike and the two newcomers. “I must've lost track of time. This is, um–”

“Mike,” Mike interrupted, nodding at the woman – Andrea Cantillo, Mike remembered from one of Gus' various background files on Jesse. “Just helping Jesse with some paperwork, but I'll get out of your hair.”

“Hi. I'm Andrea, and this is Brock,” Andrea said. She smiled, eyes warm but searching, roving around the mess and clutter in the room. Then she pushed her son forward, or tried to at least. “Say hi, Brock,” she prompted.

“Hi.” The word was almost inaudible, especially coming partially from behind Andrea's back.

“Hello,” Mike told what he could see of Brock, and began gathering up the papers, trying to present himself as bland and as unmemorable as possible – seeing as the kid hadn't bothered to inform him that company would be coming, he'd prefer to be nothing but another anonymous face. Safer for everyone that way. Luckily, the hen decided it was high time to poke her head around the chair, letting out a quiet squawk that drew the rest of the room's attention.

“Is that a _chicken?_ ” Brock whispered, this time on the audible scale.

Jesse beamed. “Yeah. You wanna pet her?” He extricated himself from behind the paperwork and drew towards the chair, taking the groceries from Andrea on the way past and setting them down on the table. He crouched in front of the chair, beckoning Brock forwards with one hand and gingerly smoothing the hen's feathers with the other.

Brock shuffled over, his face reminiscent of Jesse's earlier that day, and huddled next to Jesse. Andrea followed, first glancing back at Mike, more curious than cautious, before she joined the two boys. “What's her name?” she asked, leaning over with her hands on her knees.

“I thought we'd think of one together,” Jesse said, looking up at her, proud and hesitant all at once. “So she'd be, like, _our_ pet. Shared.”

The light in Andrea's eyes matched Jesse's, and the way Brock smiled, the boy seemed to have almost forgotten Mike completely.

Maybe, Mike thought, this would last. He'd been wrong about the kid before.

He only hoped he wouldn't be sent out for a dog or – God forbid – a two-headed snake next.

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the chicken in this fic acts unrealistically calm – I have absolutely no knowledge about chickens, probably to the shame of my many Ukrainian farming ancestors, and it was easier if I didn't write the chicken pecking people left and right. I do know, however, than in my hometown, owning chickens within city limits requires quite a few regulations! (and actually has a bit more than I expected, [according to this website](http://www.edmonton.ca/city_government/urban_planning_and_design/urban-hens-pilot-project.aspx), but we'll just pretend that Albuquerque has _some_ regulations but not too many).
> 
> Jesse's and Kaylee's desires for certain pets are based on mine and my little brother's own ideal childhood pets (plot twist: he wanted the dog and I wanted the snakes. We got neither.)
> 
> Lastly, for your consideration: [chickens in hand-knitted capes in the cold](http://jaggedcliffs.tumblr.com/post/147293259396/tankerbelll-kaible-things-are-awful-and-will) \- capes which you could imagine Jesse attempting to knit, then going to Andrea for help when they hopelessly snarl.


End file.
